Raindrops
by Hiiro-No-Ame
Summary: The Man on the Moon has finally given Pitch a purpose, as to why it was given to him he has no idea. But he'll never be the same after. PitchxOC
1. Pianos

She kept her fingers steady on the keys and waited for the inevitable to happen. Twinkling notes of moonlight and frost whispered in a ragged dance from the ancient piano beneath her finger tips. Gunshots rang out from the hallway behind her, loud and abrasive, they tore through her melody as her fingers finally shook too hard to continue on.

The door slammed open with a thunderous crash, but she kept her eyes to the piano, and steadied her shoulders slowly, she wouldn't mess this up, not now.

Footsteps thumped to her and her shoulder was grabbed roughly, the cold barrel of a gun pressed tightly to the nape of her neck. She hissed softly, trying to remain as still as possible through her fear.

"Where are all the people girlie?"

She shook her head lightly, "Not here. I stayed behind; they all left for a break." Her lie floated around her smoothly, and she refused to look at the closets where the rest of her classmates were stashed. She hoped to God that they would all remain silent.

"Now why would they do that?" his voice rasped through her ears, and she tensed slightly at the sound.

"The teacher wanted to show them something."

Her shoulder was released, but she stayed facing the piano, unmoving for a moment before returning to the keys. Her fingers tapped out a slow melody that flowed from the piano once more. Sadness and fear curled around the notes that floated about the room around her. The clanging pace of feet tried to distract the melody, but she knew she had to keep playing. He'd believe her if she acted like no one else was there. He had to believe her.

A small click sounded through the room, but she kept her back straight and her eyes on the keys in front of her, making music with a desperate sort of detachment.

A loud bang erupted through the room, and agonizing pain seared through her skull. Then all was dark.


	2. Creativity

Darkness permeated his castle as he stalked through the lower levels pensively. Confusion and anxiety rolled off his sleek form in a tangible wave of shadows and dust, spreading out around him until the very space around him seemed to be a living monster growling for escape. To say Pitch Black was irritated would be an understatement.

It had been nearly five years since his defeat at the hands of the guardians. Nearly five years of loneliness and silence. His castle was an endless tomb, except for the occasional times that Frost popped in. He'd come to….amicable terms with the younger spirit since his defeat, he didn't quite enjoy the boy's company, he merely….tolerated it. As it was Frost was with the other Guardians, celebrating the Christmas season that had rolled in with piles of snow and goodwill. It seemed that the goodwill had rubbed off on every single being that existed, because for the first time since…ever, the Man on the Moon had finally talked to him. _Him_! Pitch Black, King of darkness and nightmares had finally been granted acknowledgement from the Moon.

One word. That's all he heard, one tiny itty bitty word. "Creativity." That was all. He waited for hundreds of years since being cursed to this hell and the Moon gave him one meaningless insignificant word. Creativity.

His irritation mounted to nearly unmanageable levels. His power had steadily grown after the guardians realized that without him there was no balance. Too many people believed in them, and not enough in him, until the demands of the world weighed down to heavily upon them. Bastards. They carefully monitored his power levels, only allowing him certain numbers of children and adults to believe in him, and he chafed under their bit.

And now he had a pointless word to add to that anger. Creativity how quaint. Which one though? There were hundreds of spirits by that title, creativity was constantly changing and growing to encompass new stiles and ideas. Did the moon want him to speak to one of those over joyful flamboyant spirits? Or did he mean that Pitch needed to be more creative?

He flopped onto his bed sullenly, and rested his head in his hands agitatedly. As if he didn't have enough to deal with, now he had to figure out what creativity was supposed to mean to him. He was so tired of this existence, so tired of floundering around trying to be believed in. He twirled his fingers elegantly, and watched as a nightmare slowly began to form above them, one so twisted and crazed that he could barely stand to gaze at it. It was exquisite in its terror, and he could practically taste the fear that would run off of someone from this. His body shuddered languidly as he stood and pocketed the nightmare carefully. It really was time for him to get to work.

He bolted out of his kingdom in swirling shadows; streaked through towns and cities across the world in an intense rush of fright. He searched obsessively for just the right person to give this nightmare to, someone so deserving and unsuspecting that it might echo in their mind for the rest of their short mortal life.

He walked silently along the streets of New York, deciding that there had to be someone in the endless city that he could terrify. He glared at the bright lights and Christmas decorations, and scowled darkly when people passed unknowingly through his torso. His mood steadily becoming darker with the increasing number of people that walked through him, and badly sung carols he heard echoing around him. Shadows swirled angrily, until he decided he was going to find the happiest person he could, someone who was absolutely content and ruin them. Take their happiness and crush it under fear until they understood what it was like to completely hate their very existence.

He made sure to keep out of sight incase North was straggling around delivering presents somewhere. If any of the Guardians caught him with this type of nightmare in his hands…it wouldn't end well for him.

He finally chose a large apartment in one of the expensive buildings that dotted New York like a plague. He strode through the halls silently. Flickering lights, and making the tiny bulbs on decorated trees burn out into sinister darkness. Happy feelings surrounded the rooms and his stomach clenched with overwhelming jealousy. How dare they not believe in him? How dare these people lie in their beds with families and lovers and things that he could never have? He pulled the nightmare out of his pocket delicately, and slipped into a bedroom sinisterly.

A young man lay wrapped around his lover contently. Their children slept away in the other room, and Pitch could see the golden sand roam around the young man's head. He was so happy. It was Christmas; his lover was with him, his children excited. He was getting promoted and his boss liked him. His life couldn't be any better than it was.

Pitch chuckled darkly and slowly began to feed the nightmare into the golden sand above the man's head. The black grains slowly permeated the golden image, spreading languidly through the happy dream. He stood and watched the fear slowly consume the young man, swallowing every last grain of gold in its wake. The rush hit him as he watched the man begin to toss and turn. The taste of terror was on his tongue, and it swirled around him like a lover. Pitch watched with hooded eyes and rapt expression as his nightmare slowly ate its way deep into the man's brain.

Pitch vaulted out of the building quickly, the delicious power of fear coursed through him in a heady rush as he made his way back to his kingdom. The moonlight shone around him as he treaded through untouched snow. The moon's word long forgotten in the high of power. One more glowing dot on his globe, one more nightmare, one more night. His mood slowly wore down as he realized that there was nothing for him to go back to but boredom and darkness. He walked through the snow pensively, what good was his power if there was nothing after? No party after a long night of giving presents, no beautiful memories stored in shiny little teeth, no holiday baskets waiting to be filled, no smiles after a night of his dreams.

His shoulders slumped forward in a weariness that made its way down to his very core. The high was useless if there was nothing left at the end. His thoughts rushed through his mind agonizingly, and shadows swirled around the empty woods dancing in the wake of his agony.

His dim golden eyes made their way over the barren landscape, and then were caught upon something lying in front of the entrance to his home. He stopped suspiciously, and slithered unseen through shadows until he was close enough to clearly see what it was that was put so precariously in front of his home.

It was a woman. Lying unconscious in the snow. The flakes caught on her delicate skin, and melted into the waterfall of auburn hair that was liberally streaked though with brilliant rainbows of colour that fell around her shoulders invitingly. Why the hell was there a …..Oh…oh no… he walked over to her quickly and kneeled next to her while the universe laughed at his expense. The woman was obviously a new spirit; one word rang through his mind mockingly. Creativity.

"Fuck." His voice echoed lowly through the trees as he gazed at the woman on the ground. This is what the moon meant? He wanted Pitch to...do something with this woman?! Forget it, he wasn't a babysitter and if the guardians caught him holding an unconscious spirit the ensuing trouble would never be worth it.

He walked past her determinedly, but stopped before he could actually jump into his kingdom. He looked over his shoulder at the woman curled up in the snow. She was so small and pale. Auburn hair shockingly bright against the expanse of white skin showing where the green dress failed to cover. The woman was beautiful in a subtle way. Like raindrops that fell from sullen clouds. He looked up at the moon, hoping to find an answer, he, the nightmare king, couldn't possibly have anything to do with this woman!

His golden eyes widened when a long beam of moon light cast itself down onto her form. Well damn…. He apparently had his answer to _that_ question. Pitch scanned the trees silently for any sign of another being. When none seemed forthcoming he walked back to the woman cautiously, and picked her up gingerly. She was so much smaller than he was, and shockingly cold even through the long sleeves that his coat offered.

He transported into his home in a swirl of shadows and black dust, holding the woman tightly to his chest, and glancing around for a place to put her. He'd never taken care of anything in his life, and he doubted this little woman was a great place to start.

Pitch walked through the barren halls of his palace searching for a room that wasn't cold and falling apart at the seams. Dust streamed out of rooms that had fallen into an endless state of disrepair. He was starting to panic slightly; where the hell was he supposed to put this woman? He couldn't leave her in one of these rooms, she might get hurt in her sleep, and he couldn't leave her on the couch. The nightmares would prey on her during the dark hours of night.

Pitch sighed and walked toward his room silently. There was obviously no other place to put this woman. And for some reason he couldn't bring himself to just dump her in one of the rooms. He nudged open the door with his hip, and walked into the darkened room with a grim sort of acceptance. His bed seemed to loom over him as he laid her to rest in the black blankets carefully. She looked even smaller nestled into his huge bed, with ragged and torn curtains from the canopy surrounding her. He couldn't help but think that she was beautiful, swaddled up in black sheets surrounded by darkness. She looked like a pale corpse waiting for its final resting place.

He shook his head tiredly and walked out of his room. He'd deal with her in the morning.


	3. Terrible Beauty

A/N: I own no one but Aniese. She is mine. :D

* * *

The morning sprung quickly, and Pitch couldn't help but glare at it hatefully. Morning meant light, and light meant checking on the woman currently sleeping in his bed. He could feel a headache forming between his eyes, and he rubbed his temples agitatedly. Why, oh _why_ did the Moon stick this on him? People hated him, feared him. The poor spirit would probably be terrified when she saw him, then she'd scream, Guardians would come see her, beat him with a stick etc, etc. No matter what happened, this probably wasn't going to end happily for him.

He stood from the couch reluctantly, and looked down the hallway nervously, not a sound came from the direction of his room, and the silence was almost as oppressive as the anticipation of waking her up. Pitch huffed, and walked down the hallway slowly. Shadows swirled elegantly and painted dancing pictures across the dusty floor around him. His door loomed over him ominously, and he glared at it for a few moments, mentally cursing his fate seven different ways to hell. Someone somewhere was going to pay for this.

He opened the door cautiously and stepped in silently, to be met with the curious multicolored gaze of the woman who was awake and sitting up in his bed. One piercing blue eye, and one earthy brown eye stared at him curiously, full of light, energy, and burning curiosity.

He watched quietly for a few moments, not wanting to say anything and startle her. The small woman seemed content to look over him, she was taking in every aspect of his appearance and he was waiting anxiously for the screaming to begin.

"You're the boogeyman."

He arched his brow at her mater-of-fact words, calmly stated like she was telling him about the weather. Bloody woman, "Yes," he drew himself up to full height imperiously and was awarded with a taste of nervousness from the young woman, "I am Pitch Black." He smirked a bit evilly and walked toward her leisurely, "and you are?"

She looked confused for a moment; she obviously wasn't sure _what _she was anymore. But hopefully the Moon told her what her name was. She looked up at him unsure, "Aniese. That's…" she frowned silently and played with the blanket nervously trying to organize the muddle of thoughts that danced around in her head, "I think that's my name…I remember being called Aniese."

Pitch sighed slowly. Great. She couldn't remember who she was before. Maybe that wasn't the worst thing in the world, he wished like hell he could forget who he was before he became this. He watched Aniese silently before striding over to the bed, "Regardless of whom you were," she watched him speak and he couldn't help but like that her attention was so fixed on him, "You are now the spirit of creativity. Or, I should say one of the spirits of creativity."

"Sprit?"

"Yes," he pushed her auburn hair away from her face gently, checking for cuts, and reveling in the silken feel against his skin. He usually shied away from all physical contact, but he wanted to touch her, make sure that she was real and not a delusion he created for himself. "Like Santa Clause, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Jack Frost." He didn't want to tell her about them, but he knew in a few minutes that's where she'd be. Away from his darkness and into the light of the Guardians. Hoo-frickin-ray.

She scowled at him darkly the expression seemed odd against her face, "You're kidding right? They don't exist. I'm not a child."

For the first time since Pitch could remember he was stunned into silence. This woman was _instantly _willing to believe that he was the Boogeyman, and that she was now a spirit…but she didn't believe in _any_ of the Guardians? Oh this was rich. "I assure you they are real. However little I'd like to admit it they are as real as you or I."

"And if I'm in a coma and none of this is real?"

He rapped her sharply on the head and smiled darkly when she winced, "Bloody well real enough now isn't it?"

She glared at him and scooted up a bit, watching him warily, before nodding slowly and smiling at him. Colors seemed to dance around her, sluggishly fighting with the insidious darkness surrounding them. "Alright. I believe you grumpy. Why am I here?"

He shrugged slowly and watched her calmly, "I don't know. You were dumped on my doorstep. I'm going to deliver you to the guardians soon enough." He was surprised at how easy it was for him to be…pleasant to her. Something about her set him at ease. She blended in beautifully with his shadows, pale skin almost enhancing how they looked dancing around the room. He held out his hand to her challengingly, knowing that something as beautiful as she was would never dare to accept such a blatant offer from the darkness.

She proved him wrong. Her pale hand grasped his tightly, and he pulled her up to stand careful that his claws didn't bite into her delicate skin. Pitch looked down at her, the top of her head barely brushed the middle of his chest, and her fiery rainbow curls brushed against his wrist. She smiled up at him trustingly, and Pitch knew he was at her mercy from that one smile. He could easily tear her throat out and feast on her blood as it poured down pale skin. But she _trusted him_.

"Can you walk alright?" His voice was curt and sharp trying to hide how the smile affected him. He couldn't let her get a grip over him. She'd be gone soon enough, and he'd be left to wallow in the darkness of nightmares and lost hope.

"I'm alright." She walked out the door impishly and looked around the hall around her. The high ceilings were intricately designed and hung with long shards of black crystal. Her mouth dropped open at the beauty of it. Up ahead she could just barely see firelight dancing off of the crystals. It took her breath away in a rush. "It's..."

"Decrepit, creepy, dusty. Yes yes. I bloody well know that." He walked ahead of her quickly; broad shoulders slumped slightly, trying to hide as best as he could from her gaze. His home was horrid, and this woman in it made it look even shabbier.

She glared at him slightly for interrupting her and followed behind him slowly, "I was going to say beautiful. But if you're going to pout then I'm not going to say anything about it."

Pitch whirled around and glared at her threateningly, and the insolent little…twit glared right back at him, crossing her arms insolently over her chest and narrowing multi coloured eyes. He smirked slowly, and watched her fidget slightly under his gaze. Little woman thought she could stand up to him did she?

She watched with surprise as he disappeared into a mass of swirling shadow, setting out all the lights and dipping the entire castle into icy darkness. Nightmares clopped around her, and he set the wind to swirling and howling against her. He could taste her fear against his tongue, sweet and tangy bursting against him tinted with glorious excitement. Aniese was excited. He watched her curiously, hidden in shadows and darkness. She was afraid, but excited for what he might do, waiting impatiently for him to make a move.

"You're not impressive you know." Her voice rang out in a loud challenge, "you say there's a Jack Frost, and I bet he can make some wind too!" Her voice teased lowly and he stalked toward her silently, "I thought you were the Boogeyman!"

He grabbed her and covered her mouth tightly to stop the scream. Pulling her back against his chest tightly Pitch leaned over her threateningly and whispered lowly, "I am."

She shook lightly against him and watched the fire slowly grow back in the hearth. His cool hands left her face slowly and he stood before her golden eyes glowing teeth bared in a dangerous parody of a smile.

She stared at him silently, before her face broke into a jubilant grin, "That was amazing!" Her excitement spilled out of her in streams of vibrant colour, "That was the coolest thing I've ever seen! You were so frightening."

He stared at her quizzically, trying to figure out what was wrong with this girl. Amazing? No one had ever called him or anything he did amazing. "You're insane." He muttered quietly and watched her. "Absolutely insane. You were afraid. I know you were. How is that amazing?"

"You weren't going to hurt me that's why."

"I could have easily," his voice was serious, "I could have very easily ripped your throat out, or strangled you."

"But you won't."

Her words floated in the air around them heavily. He looked into her eyes and was struck with the fact that she absolutely believed that he'd never harm her. It was disconcerting how quickly she trusted him, and he couldn't help but wonder if that's what got her killed so early. She was so trusting and absolutely fragile. So small and delicate, one wrong touch and he feared she'd be broken all over the floor.

"No," he began slowly and walked the rest of the way to his sitting room before sitting down on his couch wearily, "I'm not going to hurt you. You won't be around long enough for me to hurt anyway. You need to go with the guardians."

Aniese sat down carefully, "Guardians?"

Pitch ran his hand thru his hair pensively, seriously debating about actually telling her. He could lie to her, weave a beautiful nightmare about him being wonderful, and amazing things he'd done. He could have her vibrant eyes wide and glowing with wonder from the tales he could weave for her. Keep that expression with him forever. Or keep it until she needed to go out and do her job, fill people to the brim with creativity and life. She'd find out quickly what he really was, and then she'd hate him for lying. For some reason he didn't want Aniese to hate him.

So he told her the truth. He wove the tale of the Guardians, and how they had fought, and he'd lost. He spent hours telling her everything from the very beginning until now; he kept his voice sterile and eyes downcast through the story. He kept out all the anger and depression, his want for belief. He didn't mention how he'd longed for a companion, and had gone to Frost for something, and ended up with nothing.

She watched with ever growing anger as he folded into himself, telling her a painful tale. When his words finally trailed to an end she looked at him anger dancing manically in her eyes. "How could they treat you like that?" Righteous anger ran through every word and she looked at him questioningly, "you were just doing your job!"

Silence met her outburst and Pitch looked at her incredulously. What was this girl's problem? Here he was confessing to being an evil bastard, and she got angry at the wrong person! "Look Aniese, you've got the wrong idea of this." He stalked around the room swirling up dust and ominous shadows, "I am the _villain_."

Golden eyes met blue and brown and Pitch knew it was a lost cause. He obviously wasn't going to convince her to leave him. Something welled up in his chest painfully; nothing had ever been this loyal to him. No one had ever _chosen _to stay near him.

He rushed toward her in a flurry of shadow and grabbed her jaw tightly, forcing now wide eyes to meet his own. His claws dug into delicate skin lightly leaving small red rivets in the snowy flesh. He sneered at her and moved closer, "If you stay," his voce dipped lower, a caressing threat, "I will not allow you to run off to the guardians when it all becomes too much. You will be stuck here until you are fully visible, and know just what it is you as a spirit must do."

Aniese nodded slowly and relaxed when his claws pulled out of her skin in a satisfied way. She watched him pensively for a few moments, mulling over all that had happened. "I think I'll be fine here." Her gaze shifted to him, and the oddest urge to draw him flew about her fingers. She wanted to capture all that terrible beauty, all the lines and curls and shadows that made him so ominous and drew her to him. "I don't…want to go with these Guardians. I don't think I like Christmas very much anyway."

"Why is that?" curiosity crept into his voice against his will, and he watched her fidget sadly, running the hem of her silky green dress between elegant fingers.

"I think…I think I died on Christmas."

"That would defiantly alleviate the joyful feelings from the holiday," his voice was dry and he looked over at her before shrugging his shoulders lazily, "it's not that wonderful of a holiday to begin with. Overrated full of false cheer and fake goodwill."

"Is it? I don't remember much about it." Her voice was wistful, longing for some idea of the things that the world offered. Her mind only came up with blurry images that meant nothing to her. She looked at him, "I just remember a piano," her lips slowly turned into a frown as her brows drew together, desperately clinging to a memory that seemed to float away, "I _had_ to play the piano. It was important, but..." she sighed, "I'm not sure why. And then there was a loud noise, and I woke up here." She finished simply and looked at him sadly, "Why can't I remember anything?"

"Because it was traumatic." He answered simply and steepled his fingers slowly. Whatever had killed her had been too traumatic for her to hold onto. It was the reason Frost hadn't retained his human memories too. "Whatever happened, you're probably better off not knowing."

"But I want to know who I am."

"You are Aniese, spirit of creativity. That's enough for you to go off." He hated saying that to her, but chasing after forgotten memories wasn't going to help her now. She'd have to wait until she met the Tooth Fairy to fully remember what had happened. She looked so upset sitting there looking at him. So small and fragile that he couldn't help but touch her.

He ran clawed fingers through her fiery hair gently, hoping that it was a comforting gesture. She made a wordless sound and clung to him tightly, shaking with repressed sobs and fears. How could she possibly be good at anything if she had no idea who she was? She pressed closer to him trying to anchor herself down to the earth. He was solid and warm, something real and definite in the confusion of her mind.

He sighed softly and pulled her closer, vowing to himself that it was only this once, and then he'd never let her be so familiar with his person again. He knew he was lying, he craved her need. The fact that she clung to _him_ sent him into a high that he hadn't felt since the dark ages. He was powerful, because this one woman needed him. It was pathetic how much it mattered to him, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

God this was complicated, he couldn't help but resent the Moon for doing this. He was going to hurt her, he could feel it. He was too dark and frightening to be of any use to her. She should have been given to Frost, or the damn Kangaroo. Not him, never him. But he'd help her for however long she wanted him, he'd help her through the confusion and sadness as best as he could. He just hoped that her vibrant colours wouldn't be too buried under shadow when all was said and done.


	4. Help

A/N: I'm really sorry about the ridiculously long wait for this chapter! I had a lot of personal issues going on and I really didn't have time to write anything. So this and all of my other stories have been neglected. I hope that I'll be able to update in a more timely manner form now on :)

* * *

Snow flew around his face as he sped around cities looking for the annoying brat. Frost could be painfully elusive when he actually rubbed two brain cells together. Unfortunately for Pitch, it seemed like Frost was doing just that at the moment.

Pitch had left Aniese sleeping on his bed; he hoped the blasted woman would stay asleep long enough for him to inform Frost of her existence. As much as he hated to admit it, Pitch needed Frost to know about her. He couldn't risk the other guardians finding out without Frost there to vouch for him. Pitch also had to admit, if only to himself, that he needed…help. He wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to behave around the woman. Frost, as annoying as he was, was quite popular with women. He'd obviously have some clue as to how to treat Aniese.

He landed in the middle of a small town blanketed in glowing white snow. He made his way through shadows ominously, a trail of fear and bad feelings followed in his wake. Pitch couldn't help but love the way people lost composure when crossing his path. Even unseen, he had a small bit of power over the remote village people. He walked around silently, searching for any trace of Frost.

A round ball of icy snow made its way through the air toward him. Pitch rolled his eyes and caught the frigid ball in clawed fingers without bothering to turn around. He examined the ball smugly and turned to face the caster.

"Pleasant to see you as well Frost."

A snowy haired boy landed gracefully on the crook of a shepherd's staff and smiled invitingly at Pitch, "Heya Pitch," He sat on the staff casually frost growing where skin touched wood, "What brings you by?"

"I have a…problem."

Frost's cheerful expression quickly turned somber, and he looked over at Pitch seriously, "The guardians trying to give you hell again?" His voice promised unhappy consequences if he was proven right. Jack was 50 shades of _done_ putting up with the crap the guardians kept slinging at Pitch. Enough was enough.

"No." Pitch watched the boy's expression soften, and for once he was glad for Frost's insane friendship with him, "but they might." There was no point in giving everything to the boy all at once.

"Why?" Curiosity filled Frost's voice, and Pitch reveled in the small power he held in the situation. Even if it was only the power of information.

"I have a spirit in my home."

"A spirit?" Frost looked at him curiously, careful not to jump to any conclusions just yet, "why do you need my help with a spirit?"

"She's…" Pitch fumbled slightly, trying to think of what to tell Frost. What if the boy didn't believe his story about finding Aniese? What if he got the guardians and tried to take her away? Frost's help was becoming less and less appealing by the second, but he was all Pitch had. "She's a new spirit who was dumped on my doorstep."

"You want me to bring her to the guardians?"

"No!" Pitch cursed himself mentally when Frost's eyes widen at his instant refusal, "No." he began in a calmer tone, "I just want you to know that Aniese, the new spirit of creativity, has chosen to stay with me."

Frost nodded for a moment, "If Anyese.."

"Aniese. Not Any-ese." Pitch's voice snapped darkly at Frost and he reveled in the slight fear that wafted off the boy, "Her name is Ann-eye-ese."

"Alright, Aniese then. If she's so content to stay with you," Frost looked at him speculatively, "Why the hell are you telling me about it?" He floated down from his staff gracefully and walked through the deep snow too were Pitch was standing, "You usually don't like me knowing about anything that's going on in your life. Why's this different?"

"Because sooner or later the Guardians will have to know about her," Pitch sneered at Frost dangerously, "do you honestly think they'd let her stay with me?" Pitch glared at Frost angrily. The guardians would never be content to leave him be. He knew that they'd do anything in their power to draw Aniese away from him.

"No. I don't think they would." Frustration was evident in Frost's voice. Pitch wondered just what he was frustrated about. His life was wonderful, friends, admirers, believers. As far as Pitch was concerned Frost has absolutely no right to be frustrated.

"I care not for their opinions Frost," his voice was sullen even to his own ears, "I felt that it would be….beneficial for all involved if at least one guardian knew of her existence." Pitch was loath to tell anyone. While he may loathe company and people, he had promised Aniese that she could stay with him until she fully understood the world she had been thrust into. Pitch was many things, but a liar was not one of them.

He watched in silence as Frost processed the information before nodding slowly, "I don't see a problem with her staying with you Pitch," The boy looked at him and smiled, "In fact I think it's a wonderful idea."

Wait..what?

Frost laughed softly at the dumfounded look on Pitch's face, "I think it's great that she's staying with you," he rubbed the back of his snowy head nervously, "I never felt that great about leaving you alone anyway. I think having someone with you will make your life a whole lot better."

Pitch looked at him silently and nodded quietly, for once excepting the sentiment without any of his usual snipe. He needed someone on his side, and if that someone was Frost…well who was he to argue?

"I'd like to meet her though."

"Why?" Pitch was on the defense before he could even come up with a logical reason for reacting the way he did.

"Whoooa buddy," Frost held his hands up in a pacifying gesture and snow swirled around them lazily, "It might help your story if I look like I actually know her. Otherwise it's gonna be obvious we're strangers."

He glared dark, icy daggers at the boy, "So what if you're strangers?"

Frost shrugged nonchalantly, "If they go in and notice we're strangers they'll think I'm lying about knowing."

"How would they know you're strangers if you don't mention it to them Frost?"

The boy shook his head small flakes of snow flying around, "It's easy to tell when people are strangers, even if they try to act differently." He leaned against hi staff languidly and looked at Pitch coolly, "but if she's at least familiar enough with me to be comfortable in my presence then they'll not only believe us, but possibly assume that I've even checked up on you."

Pitch inclined his head, moderately impressed with the boy's logic. At times Frost could be quite intelligent. Too bad for the rest of the world that it didn't happen often. "I'll concede to your logic Frost." Shadows swirled around his feet, and a jagged, gaping hole opened up in the snow next to him, "Come on then."

Frost grabbed his staff and jumped into the inky darkness without a second thought. Pitch stood in the calm of the swirling snow for a few moments, thought focused on how trusting everyone seemed to be. Aniese trusted him with her wellbeing, Frost trusted him when he said there was a spirit living with him.

Part of him was glad that Frost had so easily agreed to his plan, but another part of him wondered just what kind of horror he had created for the world. Creativity and Jack Frost teaming up. Now that sounded like a horrifying idea.


	5. Dark and Bright

Pitch landed inside his home quietly, Frost in tow. He really didn't want anyone to know about Aniese, but it was for the best. He strode confidently down the halls, snickering as Frost ducked away from every tiny shadow in his path.

"Scared Frost?" he couldn't help but taunt the boy. Especially if he had to be on his best behavior for Aniese.

"No."

"Good. Wouldn't want you running off too soon now would we?" Pitch looked around trying to find any trace of the little spirit. Where was that woman? She couldn't have wandered far, and if she did he needed to find her before the nightmares did.

"Pitch!" a joyous voice raced across the halls at him, bright colours seemed to swirl and dance in with the dark and shadows. Both men turned toward the sound and were stuck dumb at the sight greeting them. Pitch felt his breath hitch and his heart run amok.

Aniese was walking toward him, green dress gone replaced by an off white and inky grey gown. The bodice clung to her upper body lovingly, intricate swirls of grey embroidery faded to white and back to a dark grey at her waist, where flowers tumbled into a long flowing bottom that surrounded her like new fallen snow under a midnight moon. Small vines of black crawled up from the hem like twisting nightmares. Her curly auburn and rainbow hair twisted and tumbled down her bare shoulders in a fiery waterfall. She was the most stunning thing Pitch had ever seen.

"Who's he?" Her melodious voice snapped him out of his insane trance, and he drew himself up imperiously.

"This, is Jack Frost, he has agreed to help us with the guardians." He watched sullenly as Frost came up and kissed her hand lightly. Introducing himself in a gentlemanly manner that would have made Pitch look like a fool. Jealousy curled low in his stomach, twisting and writhing sickeningly.

She smiled at Jack before turning her multi coloured eyes to Pitch questioningly. "Why would we need help with the guardians?"

Jack leaned against his staff nonchalantly, "They wouldn't like the fact that you're staying with Pitch," he looked over at the man himself before continuing, "So they'll probably want to take you away when they find out."

"T-take me away?!" She spluttered indignantly before rounding on Pitch, "I'm not some toy that people can pass around!" Fiery colours swam around her feet ominously as visual testament to her mounting anger.

Pitched rolled his eyes as Jacked leaned away from her. He strode over to her calmly and rested his hands on her cool shoulders lightly, the riot of colours faded a bit at his touch and he couldn't help but be inwardly pleased when she leaned _into_ his touch, not away from it. "My dear, you are no toy. But the guardians are what they are, and I am what I am. We'll never get along, good and evil never have." He brushed long fingers through her silky curls soothingly.

"You're not evil," pink lips curled downward into a pensive frown, "and I'm not leaving. You promised I could stay."

"And stay you shall," his eyes widened comically when she wrapped her arms around his waist tightly and buried her face in his shoulder. Her auburn curls brushed against his neck teasingly and the scent of musky roses surrounded him. He barely had enough thought left to curl his arms back around her comfortingly. Pitch rested his cheek against her curls, compelled by the need to have her close, "I promise you that as long as you wish to stay, you shall stay. I will let nothing take you from here as long as you desire to stay," words tumbled from his lips of their own volition, and he was surprised to find that he really meant every one of them.

Jack watched from his corner silently, unwilling to break the moment between them. His eyes trailed down and fell upon the sight of Pitch's dark powers swirling in with her colours. They mixed beautifully, making their own little mural across the weathered stone that covered the floor. He hopped down from his staff silently and took one last look at the swirling patterns before flying out of the room. He didn't know how long Pitch and Aniese would get along, but he knew for certain that he'd _never_ let the guardians split those two up.

Aniese smiled warmly at him, "Thank you. I have nothing but you."

He waved her off a bit embarrassed, "No need for thanks." He honestly couldn't remember the last time someone had thanked him for something. This woman really was a bit of a mystery to him. He allowed his lips to curl up ever so slightly for a moment, before letting his face fall back into its normal disinterested look. "Now Frost we need..." he turned only to find that the boy had left.

"He's gone," Aniese looked over at Pitch, "I wonder why he left. He seemed really nice. He said," she smiled joyously; "we could have a snowball fight before the snows melt." She grabbed Pitch's hand softly before walking him with her toward the living room carefully.

He looked down at their entwined hands wondrously, before tightening his grip ever so slightly. He couldn't get enough of this little woman who plagued his home with laughter and light. The edges of her dress overlapped the hem of his dark coat slightly, and he was caught by how sublime the sight was. Her light in his darkness, and his darkness seeming to creep up along her light mixing two things into one glorious sight.

"We're going to have to take you out into the city soon."

She turned toward him surprise written plainly in her eyes, "Why's that?"

"We need to get people to believe in you," the feeling of people walking right through him filled his mind. The crushing weight of hopelessness that followed danced around him tauntingly, and Pitch decided right then that he'd never let Aniese know what it felt like to be tossed under a rug, written off as unimportant or nonexistent. She deserved to shine, and by God she would. Even if he had to hurt people for it to happen, she'd be believed in.

* * *

A/N: so if you're interested in her dress this is the address: wwwDOTweddingdressoneDOTcom/wp-content/uploads/201 1/01/gothic-wedding-gowns-2DOTjpg just replace the DOT with and actual dot :)


	6. Nonexistent

A/N: another chapter whooo! I'll be the first to admit I really, really suck at posting. Really do. I hope to be able to get in at least one more chapter before the 15th. Because between the 15th and the 26th I won't have internet. But I'll keep writing and try to post when I do.

* * *

Pitch and Aniese ventured out into the snowy woods quietly. He watched, amused, as she took in all the sights of the wintery woods with child-like interest. Her multicolored eyes taking in every detail languidly and her pink lips quirking at the corners with an innocent smile.

She smiled at him gently, and skidded across the ice playfully, struggling to keep her balance, before ultimately falling onto the ice below her.

"Where are we going?"

He watched from the side of the pond and shrugged, "New York is closest, and I have business there tonight anyway." Oh yes, tonight he was _allowed_ to do his job. He sneered lightly at the thought and continued watching her impassively.

"With the nightmares," Her voice was matter-of-fact and even as she walked back toward him carefully.

"Yes," he looked at her quizzically, "how could you have possibly known that?"

"You're the boogey man Pitch," she rolled her eyes and continued toward him, "what else could you possibly be doing? Making flower wreaths?"

He cracked a small smile, and was rewarded with the rich sound of her care-free laughter, silly woman thought she could tease the boogey man?

Tendrils of shadows crept along the ground around her, obscuring the ice and making it impossible for her to see where she was going. Her eyes widened as they began climbing up her dress sinisterly, and she scrambled for the shore.

Her foot hit a patch of slick ice and she careened forward, only to be caught securely by Pitch. He hoisted her up off the ice, holding her up in his arms, before depositing her back on the snow covered grass gently.

They were pressed front to front, and Aniese looked up at him questioningly, enjoying the warmth he gave off, even though he was cooler than she was.

"Don't poke fun at the boogey man," he commanded imperiously, looking down at her mischievously, as he ran a clawed finger down her cheek lightly, "you never know what may happen."

She smiled impishly, "I'll slip on ice and then have to be saved by said boogey man."

Pitch shook his head fondly, and herded her through the woods as gently as he could. His stomach was churning at the thought of what was going to happen next. She was so happy right now. She had barely come to terms with her memory loss, how was she going to handle being invisible on top of that? Part of him wanted to carry her back to his kingdom and hide with her in the dust and shadows. He knew he couldn't though; she'd need to find out eventually.

He pulled her against him and enjoyed the tiny gasp she emitted before vaulting them through shadows to the outskirts of New York. Her warm body pressed tightly against him, and he almost ran into a tree trying to stop. He scowled darkly and set her down as if she burned him; he wasn't a teenager, he was a grown ass man, and he would be damned if a little physical contact put him off his game.

"Are you ready?" His voice floated around them eerily in the silence, and he could taste her rising fear on his tongue, which wasn't doing much to improve his concentration. She was already so close to him, affecting him in ways he had never dreamed, and now he could taste her fear on the tip of his tongue. She looked up at him uncertainly. She didn't think she could do this, and now she was looking to him for help.

Not for the first time did he wish she had been placed elsewhere. He had no idea how to calm her down. He didn't ease fear; he created it. He reached forward unsurely, and cupped her rosy cheek in his grey hand gently, the contrast was beautiful. Nightmares and wilting roses. Wasn't that a sad sort of poetry? He looked at her evenly and ran his thumb in soothing arcs against her soft skin, "You have to do this sometime, better now than later."

She nuzzled against his palm softly and looked at him trustingly, "I know. But I don't want to do it. I want to pretend I exist."

"Aniese," he felt a dark satisfaction at the shiver that ran across her spin in reaction to her name rolling of his lips, "You exist whether or not people see you. I've been around for hundreds of years, and I still am not seen by most." He tried to keep the bitter edge out of his voice, but knew he failed when her soft hand came to rest the one pressed against her cheek.

Her pale fingers intertwined with his slowly, giving him ample time to pull away, before entwining completely with his. At the feel of her skin willingly pressed so close to his he forgot what oxygen was. Air was immaterial compared to the sight of someone touching him without disgust. She looked at him for a moment before murmuring gently, "Go with me?"

He wanted to tell her no, prove that she had absolutely no control over him, but he couldn't. He needed her to need him. He craved the attention she gave him. For once he didn't have nothingness to go back to, he had Aniese. Even though he knew he should let her go, she'd only smother in his world of shadows and fear.

Pitch held her hand in his and nodded curtly, before treading through the snow into the city with her. Snowflakes fell around her elegantly, catching in her hair and twirling along her eyelashes. The white fur she wore around her shoulders made her hair flame against the snowy backdrop, and in his eyes she looked like a winter fairy.

Pitch watched raptly as she stuck her tongue out and let the flakes float to their death. A small rush crossed him as he gave a momentary thought to the other things she could be doing with her tongue, before dismissing them instantly. He wouldn't go there, it was best not to dwell on things that would never be.

He shook his head, and did his best not to think about how beautiful she was. He led her through bustling streets and crowded sidewalks expertly. He tried to steer her around people as best as he could, but he knew eventually the inevitable would happen.

He wasn't wrong, a few moments into their walk, Aniese gasped and let go of his hand suddenly. He turned to see a stricken look on her face as her delicate hands roving over her stomach frantically. He made his way back over to her, being sure to let her see the people that were passing through him left and right, even though he normally shied from it. He knew she _needed_ to see that she wasn't alone.

Her multicolored eyes filled with tears as the reality of her situation crashed down to her. She was nothing. Nonexistent. Whoever she was, and whoever she had been, it no longer mattered. She had no family, she had no past, no present, and how could she have any type of future when she had nothing to start it with? Panic welled up inside her chokingly, made worse by the fact that the only man she knew, and by extension the man that was currently her whole world was nothing too. Her heart broke at the resigned look on his face, he was obviously used to this, and she felt that he shouldn't be. She wanted to reach for him, prove to both of them that they mattered, even if it was only to each other.

Tears burned her eyes, and rolled down her cheeks before freezing there mockingly. What had they done, to be ignored by the world? Pitched talked of guardians, beings that people easily saw. They had a place in life and people adored them. So where did Pitch fit in? Where was his place? She could accept her part easily, she was new, and had no time to make herself exist. But why didn't Pitch? Why didn't he have _anyone_ to see him?

Pitch stood in front of her imperiously, watching the tears roll down her cheeks painfully. He sighed internally, and tried to remain impassive, it wasn't that big of a deal, but she looked as if her world was ending. And in a way it had. No longer was she a human, she was a spirit, and had to earn her way in the world.

He pulled her against him lightly, and then held her closer when her arms tightened around him almost painfully. He got the nagging sense that she was more upset for him than herself. Bloody woman. She was going to be the death of him, he could feel it. "Stop your blubbering," his tone conflicted with the harsh words and he nuzzled against her auburn curls lightly, trying his best to soothe her tears. She seemed to enjoy having him close for some insane reason, and if that's what she wanted, then who was he to keep that from her?

He may have been the villain, and somewhat of a bastard, but this woman was the only being in the entire universe that had freely trusted him from the beginning. She had blindly put her faith in him, and as much as he knew he could abuse it; he wouldn't. More like couldn't. He hoisted her up into his arms fluidly, trying to pick up what was left of his masculinity in the process. She was making him soft.

Her head rested on his shoulder comfortably, and she made a small sound before curling closer to his body, entrusting him with her very being, the only thing she had left to trust him with. And damn if that didn't make him feel good. He felt powerful holding her this way; nothing could take him on at this moment. He could have swathed the entire globe once again in nightmares and fear, and no one could stand in his way if he so chose it.

He sighed softly and began walking through the thick snow sluggishly. Balance had to be maintained. He couldn't keep the entire globe alive on fear, just as the Guardians couldn't keep it alive by themselves. Good and evil, dark and light had to coexist, or it was all for naught.

His golden eyes roved over the crowds carefully, tagging people for his work that night. He couldn't stop being evil, even for her. If he was honest he didn't want to. It was easier to be hated than loved. If the world hated you what's the worst that could happen? They hated you more? Well actually the worst that could happen was being defeated by a bunch of preteens and then being practically ripped apart by your own nightmares, but he tried not to think about that.

He looked down and was startled to see Aniese staring up at him pensively, almost like she knew what he was feeling. It made him uncomfortable, he'd never let anyone that close to him. Even Frost who was his "friend". He wasn't sure he wanted to have anyone that close, he was opening all kinds of doors to places even he didn't want to go.

He placed her down on the pavement gently, trying to ignore the fact that he hadn't really let go of her. Telling himself that he just needed to keep her from getting lost. She pressed against his side as they walked, and fit snugly there under his shoulder. Tucked against him perfectly, her graceful fingers entwined with his clawed ones softly.

Until a man ran into her.

Aniese fell back hard landing in a slick sheet of brick-like ice that stuck to the street stubbornly. Her auburn curls fell into her face. Papers flew through the air, as the young man tried to pick them up quickly, apologizing profusely to her the entire time.

Pitch watched dumbstruck, as the man helped her up. _Touched_ her. His hand didn't go through her, and he didn't see empty space where she stood. A dark feeling rose up inside him at how _easy_ it was for her to be seen.

"I am so _so _sorry Miss. I really wasn't paying attention," Anger rose inside Pitch as the man brushed snow off her carefully, wiping it off her body, touching what was his.

"It's no trouble," her mouth quirked into a kind smile, "I wasn't paying attention either," she bent and picked papers up off the street, looking at them in amazement, "did you," she looked at the man curiously, a bit of wonder coloring her voice, "did you draw all these?"

The man blushed to the roots of his blond hair, and continued gathering colorful pictures off the dreary ground, "yea, I mean they're nothing big, but I drew them."

"They're wonderful." She looked at them happily for a moment, mismatched eyes taking in the bold lines and subtle colours before her, "I love them. You've done a great job."

"Thank you," he smiled at her bashfully, "Sorry again."

Aniese shook her head, "It's no trouble. I'm fine."

She watched the young man walk away in amazement, "did you see that Pitch? I'm actually…" she turned to look at Pitch jubilantly, only to find she was alone in the snow.


	7. Never

Back in his home Pitch was storming around the ruins of what was once his bedroom. Shards of glass, and broken bits of furniture littered the floor around him as he stormed about. A riot of shadows rose and fell sinisterly with his movements, filling the room with flickering lights, and darkness.

She didn't need him now. She could be seen. After a scant amount of weeks she was visible, and he was not. He let out another frustrated snarl, and kicked a broken fragment of furniture out of his path. He sank down onto the ruins of his bed wearily, and stared at his hands blankly. How was it they could see her? He had worked at it for years before people originally started to see him. _Years_. And then they easily told themselves that he didn't exist. He was thousands of years old and people still walked through him like dust.

Aniese didn't need him now. She was a full-fledged spirit, able to change people's lives and do something _good._ He was insane to have ever thought she would fit well with him. She was all light and life while he embodied darkness and death. After all what was life without creativity, and what was death without nightmares? Of course people would see her, how could he have doubted that? She was too radiant and full of life to go unnoticed, and he was withering away in his skin, dying from the inside out.

A hollow spot curled in his chest at the thought of being alone again, she had only been with him for a few weeks and he already felt as though he needed her. Him, the king of fear, needing a wisp of a woman to stay sane. He sighed lowly, and tried to brush the hollow feeling away, he was drowning in another nightmare of his own making. He had told himself not to let her in, and damn himself he had. He'd let her in completely, night after night he let her sit close to him; let her listen to his stories of the world. He's tried to fill her lost memory with the happier ones that he possessed.

Then he had left her standing alone in the snow. No doubt she had found Frost and was already with The Guardians. They'd come to gloat soon, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he wanted to do. He couldn't have one nice thing for himself without it descending into hell.

A truly nasty thought curled in his mind insidiously; perhaps she hadn't found Frost yet. He could find her and force her to stay with him, tie her up in an abandoned room. She could be his Persephone. She'd get over her anger eventually; she cared about him now, why not then?

He pressed his hands against his eyes tightly, trying to drown the images out of his mind. How could he even think of such a thing? She'd wither and day stuck like some toy in a room. In fact she had insisted to him that she _wasn't_ a toy to be passed around. He scowled at the ceiling and mulled over his options silently. No doubt she was done with him now. He had left her alone in the Middle of New York. He doubted she'd be able to find her way back to his home by herself. Even if she had possessed the memories to do so, no woman wanted to stay with a man who abandoned them.

"You're an ass."

Pitch's head snapped up, and he was confronted with the sight of a scowling Aniese standing in his doorway. Violent bouts of colour swirled around her feet in sweeps of clashing reds and oranges. She glared at him silently, her anger making the room light up violently.

He looked at her from his perch on the bed, partly relieved, partly angry. Why would she come back here? To taunt him with her ability to be seen? To rub his face in the fact?

She stalked toward him in sharp, barely controlled steps, "You left me alone," her voice was sharp, and her multicolored eyes cut into him deeply, "in the middle of New York." She stood in front of him in breathtaking glory, a fully fledged spirit for the first time. Her anger was almost as delicious as her fear, and all he could do was stare in awe.

"Pitch!" Her voice cut across his thoughts, and suddenly it was her turn to hold his chin tightly in her hand, blunt little nails pressing into his flesh harshly, "You left me," hurt and anger warred in her eyes, "why?"

Pitch looked at her helplessly, trying to from his thoughts together. He couldn't admit to her the why of it. He already looked weak enough with this little wisp of a woman controlling him, "I told you," he sneered and wrenched her hand off his face delighting in the sharp pain that her nails drew, "you'd stay with me _until_ you were a fully fledged spirit. You've been seen; you have no need of my assistance anymore."

"One person Pitch," she winced at the bruising hold on her wrist but refused to back down to him, "only one! I had to have Jack help me back! I don't know anything about all this! You said you'd teach me!"

"Oh yes Boy wonder," his golden eyes flamed angrily, "why not just run back to him?! You two can frolic amongst your believers together." He pushed her away roughly, and watched dispassionately as she fell roughly to the floor.

She stared up at him from the floor angry tears pooling in her eyes silently. They stayed frozen for a few moments, the air between them thick and heavy with regret and anger. He watched as her shoulders started shaking lightly and furious tears coursed down her cheeks.

"You really think I'd just leave you!?" Her voice rose to a shout, "I've been here the entire time! I've been here with you, listening to your stories, insisting to Jack that we're ok!"

"What makes you think I need your help with Frost," he bent over and glared at her face to face, "Why would I need the help of a worthless spirit who can't even remember who she was?" He grabbed her jaw harshly, "What need have you of nightmares?!"

She grabbed his wrist lightly, pale fingers curled around it helplessly. Tears poured down her cheeks and dripped off, turning from clear to blues and grays the second they hit the floor. Her shoulders shook, and for the first time she looked at him with a tinge of fear in her eyes.

It hurt him in ways he didn't think were possible. _He_ had done this. Why did he think she was going to leave? She had given him indication of wanting to go; in fact she clung to him with a stubborn insistency, even when Frost was around. He'd let his own fears get the better of him, and he'd hurt her terribly in the process. For the first time since he could remember Pitch felt…guilty.

He knelt in front of her cautiously, and let go of her jaw, cringing at the light bruises that had already begun to form. "I'm sorry." His voice echoed around them softly, as the colour around her faded until they were left in darkness.

They stayed in the darkness silently, neither moving nor speaking. Darkness blocked them from each other, kept them separated from the hurt that had been created. Slowly, making no sound, Aniese curled her arms around him softly and leaned into his chest, seeking comfort and accepting his forgiveness in one simple movement. Light colours began to flow around her, giving off the faintest light in the never-ending darkness.

Pitch threaded clawed fingers in her wild hair gingerly, "I can't help but expect you to leave," he let out a small sigh of relief when she nuzzled against his hand subtly, "no one stays with me Aniese. I _am_ the villain." She opened her pretty little mouth to argue, but he shushed her gently, "I am. You may not see it. I tried to _kill_ the guardians. That was my end game. I hurt you for no other reason than I could."

He picked her up gently, cradling her slight form against his before sitting on the bed with her, "I knew that they would eventually fade away if no children believed in them. I wanted their belief." He felt her rest closer to him, resting her head against his chest lightly; he let the relief of her forgiveness wash over him.

"I won't leave." She looked up at him resolutely, "I don't want to leave. I want to stay here with you." She kneeled in front of him and tangled her elegant fingers in his dark hair smoothly, "You can't push me away. I won't go," multi-coloured eyes stared into his, "I wish you didn't hate yourself so much Pitch. You're not evil; you're just doing what you're supposed to do. I create music, and art, and you create nightmares. There's nothing evil about what you do, too much good is evil, and you just balance things out."

He looked at her tenderly and brushed a few stray curls out of her face, "I'm sorry."

"I know." There was no hesitation, no doubt in her voice. Just simple knowledge and that knowledge floored him. He'd pushed her to the ground, bruised her skin, yelled at her for something she had no control over her, and she forgave him.

"But if you push me again for no reason," she looked at him seriously, "I will leave. Wanting to or not, I won't let you do that to me. I won't let anyone do that to me. So the next time you push me it had better be playful, or keeping me from getting hurt." Her tone brooked no argument, and he knew better to object. Rightfully she should have already left because of his earlier behavior.

He let his head fall forward to rest on hers, their noses brushed softly; he let his hands trail up her skin to cup her face gently, allowed himself to accept her seemingly unconditional loyalty. "You won't leave me alone to my darkness?"

She shook her head and let her cheek rest against his cool hands, her skin warmed his and he watched her close her eyes and smiled softly, "Never."

"But," he looked at her the slightest hint of a teasing smile playing at his lips, "I'm an 'ass'."

She laughed softly, the twinkling sound echoed around the cavernous room joyfully, "Yes," she smiled brightly, "but you're my ass."

He chuckled lowly, until the sound was stolen from him by her lips. She kissed him lightly, like raindrops falling from a barren sky. Her lips glided across his smoothly, her pianist fingers tangled in his hair holding him in place as she ran her lips across his gently.

He froze for a long moment, before pulling her to him tightly and kissing her back roughly. He swallowed her surprised gasp easily, and tangled clawed fingers in her hair holding her in place while he ravished her mouth. He couldn't be soft and slow, not with the taste of her lips bursting against his. Her blunt little nails dug into his scalp softly and he held her waist tightly.

She relaxed into him, and let him taste her, the tip of his tongue traced her bottom lip, and she gave the most delightful shiver, before giving in and letting him taste her fully. She tasted like sugar, and colour and things he had thought lost to him.

Aniese pulled him closer, wanting him as close to her as she could possibly have him, she let out a soft moan at the sweet pain of his teeth nipping her lip lightly, encouraging her to taste back. The room was too hot, and he was so cool, she couldn't help but press closer and taste back.

He pulled back from her with a slight groan and watched her try to catch her breath. Her face was flushed, and her sharp eyes were slightly glazed, she looked at him expectantly, like she was waiting for him to teach her more, but he just shook his head. "Patience," he ran his fingers thru her messy curls leisurely, "We have time, don't force yourself into anything Aniese."

She nodded slowly and smiled softly, "what…does this mean, with us," she blushed a bit, "what are we?"

Pitch looked at her for a moment, keeping his fingers in her wild curls, "We just are. It doesn't need to be categorized, it just is," he pressed a soft kiss to her temple, "if we find later that we want a label then we can have one, but for now just…."

"Let it be." She finished softly, liking the idea of just being with him. She wasn't human anymore; she didn't need human labels for this. It was good, and she enjoyed it, that's all that really mattered. From the back of her mind soft voices floated in her head, and she was supprised by the sharp pang of sorrow that accompanied them.

_"Would you do it again?"  
"After three children, four remissions, thousands of arguments, all the good and all the bad, Yes. I would do it again."_

"Aniese?"

She looked up through a blurry haze, feeling tears course down her cheeks silently, what had happened? Soft fingers brushed tears from her skin, and she looked up to see Pitch staring down at her gently.

"Bad memories happen to all of us," he said simply as he ran a soothing hand through her hair.

"It wasn't bad."

He frowned softly and cupped her face lightly, "Then why are you crying? These aren't happy tears Aniese, there's no joy in your eyes."

"I….don't know." She looked at him helplessly, and then down at her fingers, "I don't know. I hear these voices, and their so…happy. Something about remission and children, but I can't place them. I have no idea who the voices belong to; I just know that I know them. I feel like it's important, and that I should remember." Her chest ached, and she gritted her teeth against the slight pain, "I _know_ them, but I don't."

Pitch held her softly, trying to come up with a solution to the problem, that didn't involve the guardians. He'd give anything not to ask for their help, but it seemed like they had no other options. She wanted to remember. But a small part of him wondered if she forgot for a reason. Memories could be more of a hindrance than a help, he'd seen spirits shackled by their memories, unable to move on from their human lives. But the faint wisps of memory could chain one just as easily as the full memories.

"I have to go….check in with the guardians in a few days," he looked down at her softly and wound a curl around his finger lightly, "you're welcome to join me. The tooth fairy may be able to help you better than I. Her job is to shield childhood memories. Maybe it'll jumpstart all of yours."

"You really think so?"

"I don't know," he looked at her seriously, "it may do nothing for you at all, but there's really no other way for us to find out who you were." He played with her hair absently, enjoying the silken curls against his hands, "you have nothing to lose."

She nodded and let herself rest against him softly, enjoying the feel of his arms around her. Even if she didn't remember, she'd be content to stay here with him, be his Aniese. If she couldn't find her old memories, she'd just have to build new ones.

"You should head on to sleep," his voice broke her thoughts smoothly, and his arms left her. She felt cold, and wanted him to stay close. She watched him walk to the door, before gathering her nerve. She didn't want him to go.

"Stay?"

Pitch turned and looked at her incredulously; he couldn't have heard that right. She looked at him from the bed, eyes practically begging, "You want me…to sleep with you?"

She nodded, auburn curls bouncing around her shoulders. He walked back slowly, giving her ample time to change her mind, before shrugging off his coat, and climbing, half naked, in next to her. He lay down silently and watched her.

She unzipped her dress, the noise filling up the room, before letting the material pool at her feet, leaving her in a short white slip. Her skin glowed in the faint light that whispered around the room, and her fiery curls stood out against the pale fabric draping off of her.

He propped himself up, and watched her climb under the covers next to him. Their eyes met, and she slowly scooted until she was flush against him letting her body drape over his slightly.

Pitch bit back a groan at the feel of her soft skin pressing against his. This was a terrible idea, a terrible, horrible, _wonderful_ idea. Her head came to rest against his shoulder, tucked securely under his chin, and he let his arms circle her lightly, enjoying her warmth, and letting her fill his senses.

It was going to be a wonderful night.


End file.
